


Tabletops

by peaceloveandjocularity, stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24489817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peaceloveandjocularity/pseuds/peaceloveandjocularity, https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: Charles has been antiquing and Honoria finds it all a bit suspicious.
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	Tabletops

“Ch-ch-charles.”

His name, sweeter when stuttered because he so loved the speaker, startled him out of his reverie. “Yes?”

“What are you going to  _ do _ with all of these?” She smiled at having gotten the whole sentence out without a stutter. Sometimes a question would cooperate; sometimes even single syllables were excruciating. 

“These?” He looked around, trying to understand. 

“Your po-po-post K-k-korea collection. The tab-tab-tables, Charles. Not to cr-criticize, dear, but it’s a rather l-large assortment.”  _ Especially _ , she added in her mind,  _ for someone without a household of his own. _

“This may come to you as a surprise, Honoria, but I’ve decided it’s time to consider new living arrangements. I have nothing against you of course, dear sister, but I believe it’s time to start anew. Grandmother’s house is hardly the place for that.” 

Honoria smiled at him and gestured to the antique furniture around them. “It s-seems as though you’re plan-planning to furnish s-six houses with this collection.” She trailed her fingers along an ornate chaise lounge. “Do you know what these are good f-for?” 

Charles looked up from the table he was looking at slowly. “Relaxation, Honoria, and not another word shall come from your mouth on the subject.” 

“Relaxation, indeed. Have you ever heard of the t-term nesting, b-brother mine?”

“I didn’t know ornithology was one of the hobbies you picked up during my absence. I would have bought you binoculars for your birthday.”

She smiled; Charles had always made her birthday into an entire season, spoiling her because the world had failed to do so in the manner he deemed appropriate. “I’m not t-talking about birds. T-twit. It’s a t-term women use when an expectant m-mother starts dec-decorating bef-before her little one is born.”

“Honoria, I realize that  _ I _ attended medical school and you did not but I assure you that I am in no way capable of bearing a child. Nor do I imagine children much value corner tables.”

She raised a threatening hand at him. “Id-idiot. I know you d-don’t have a child y-yet. But the only reason you w-would leave me here is to st-start a family of your own.”

She had expected this accusation, when she finally made it, to have an impact and possibly lead to a wonderful conversation, too. She hadn’t expected the color to drain from her brother’s face. 

“Ch-Charles you look p-positively ill!” 

He gripped hard at the edge of one of the delicate, decorative pieces, oblivious to what the oils in his skin might do to the finish. He held up and discarded half a dozen lies: headache, scandal, aneurysm… None of them would hold. Honoria wasn’t his twin, but when it came to reading him, she might as well have been. 

Scanning his collection, he managed a weak laugh. “I should have bought more  _ chairs _ .”

Registering the request - and aware that Charles, even post-Korea Charles, did not sit on the floor, Honoria walked into an adjoining room and grabbed something that wasn’t rococo. Once he was seated in it, pallor still more ghost white than she would have preferred, she gave him a look that demanded the rest of the story. 

He reached out and clasped her hand for just a moment; whether this gesture was intended to draw strength or offer comfort, she could not say. “I am not leaving you, Honey-vine. Even if I were to marry and start a household, you would be most welcome and most wanted there.” He sighed then. “The truth is, I have been furnishing a mansion of dreams… a castle built on shifting sand. It was a pleasant dream for awhile.”

It was her turn to sigh. “Ch-charles, I do not mean to c-c-cast aspersions on your liberal arts educ-cation, but I have no pat-patience with this poetic stance. Don’t give me allusions. Tell me why you look like someone c-cut your heart out with a p-pen knife.” 

His hesitation told her a great deal. 

“Th-there has never been anything you have f-feared to t-tell me before.”

He hung his head. “I am… I am ashamed. Before most people, I could bear shame well enough. Your regard matters to me.”

“Mine and one other’s.”

_ That _ got his head up. “How do you know that?”

“You aren’t the only g-genius in the f-family, my d-dear. Although you can be astoundingly st-stupid for someone so b-bright. So do tell. W-who is it y-you’re pining for? If I am to r-rely on these t-tables for evidence, my guess is t-that it’s someone small enough for you to lift… and s-someone p-playful enough not to mind.  _ He _ wouldn’t cut me off when I s-spoke about chaise lounges, either I bet.” 

Poets had been, for generations, describing the way blood could and did brighten the human face, but Honoria suspected even they would have been frustrated if set to describe the exact series of changes that overcome Charles Emerson Winchester’s cheeks at her words. A painter might have been able to mix the hues - from moth-wing white to summer apple, from summer apple to Persephone’s pomegranate, from pomegranate to rose gray - but canvas would never have served to showcase the progression. 

The sputtering came next. Charles tried out words, then phrases, then just gave up and blinked -  _ a lot _ . 

Honoria held up a finger to say ‘back in a moment’ and went to the kitchen for wine. She didn’t actually think she could make him spit it out - but wouldn’t it be fun to try? 

“Olive branches are the preferred flora for apologies,” he said, taking the offered glass, “not grape leaves.”

“I’m not ap-apologizing. Just c-concerned about your b-blood pressure, Dr. Winchester. If an-anything, I am the p-party owed an ap-apology. If I had f-fallen in love while you were away,  _ I  _ would have written.” 

She could see the curses coiled on his tongue. He wouldn’t speak them; Winchesters were practically genetically incapable of descending into vulgarity even on the gallows (or so went the family legend) but they could  _ think _ them just fine. “I am g-getting impatient, Charles. A name, please, or I will find a phone, tor-torture some op-operator with my stutter, and start calling everyone you served with.”

He looked at her as if she might be a witch. “Who says this, this infatuation occurred in Korea?”

“You are being stupid again. T-try to space these incidences out, w-won’t you? Do you think that be-because I st-struggle to speak, my mind is s-slow? Do you think that I don’t know what ca-carrying a torch looks like? Now, t-tell me I’m right, which I am, and tell me the name of the man with whom I look forward to tor-tormenting you with.”

The thought of the two of them in league was simultaneously adorable and absolutely terrifying. It almost made him glad the whole affair was impossible. 

He spoke the name as if it would shatter the spell of his senseless - if privileged - single life. “Sergeant Maxwell Q. Klinger.”

“And you are g-grieving this match b-because the esteemed Sergeant is m-married? Has t-turned you down? What?” 

He looked at her as if she had sprouted butterfly wings from her shoulders and started flapping toward the ceiling. “I have never expressed my feelings for the Sergeant- it’s  _ illegal _ , Honoria!” 

She actually held a hand to her face and exactly echoed a gesture he had made many times, silently imploring heaven for strength. “Technically, yes, you ab-absolute idiot. But do you really b-believe the Boston p-police are going to r-raid a Winchester  _ bedroom _ ?!? I t-take it b-back. You are not b-being stupid. You are being a c-coward.” 

So saying, she did something she’d never done even in their childhood spats; she turned and walked away from him. He followed, feeling helpless in the center of the broken dream he’d been occupying and feeling lost in the face of her anger. These feelings mingled to keep reality distant for a moment when he saw her with a phone pressed to one ear. 

_ No no no no no no no _ , his fear cried and he hurried over to be stopped dead seven inches away by a hand wielding a pen knife. She covered the mouthpiece to say, “I know you sew m-magnificent st-stitches, but you can’t sew them on your own h-hands.” 

“Honoria, please!” 

She gave him a disappointed look. Pleading? Really? That hadn’t worked when she was  _ five _ . “Yes, I un-understand the charges. The r-responsible party is Ch-Charles Emerson Winchester III. Yes, the Bra-bramblegate address.”

He glared. 

“Hello, m-may I speak to S-Sergeant Maxwell Klinger?” She smiled, happy to have gotten the name out without it being broken to pieces; it felt like a good omen. “Hello!” Warmth flooded her tone and Charles tried for the pen knife (could one commit hari kari with such a small blade?) because he knew that his beloved sister was now speaking to the love of his life -  _ and there was nothing he could do about it _ . She deftly kept it out of his hands, spearing him in a cuticle for good measure. 

“This is Honoria Winchester. I kn-know we haven’t met so I d-do hope you w-won’t mind me calling. Oh, that’s s-s-so sweet of you! Charles? My id-idiot brother is fine, b-but he is s-sort of the reason I’ve phoned. Sergeant, I have it on good au-authority that my brother is in love with you. I-I know he’s an idiot and th-that you’re probably much t-too good for him, but is there any chance that you c-could return his feelings?”

Charles held his breath. 

There was an impossibly long (and expensive on a long distance call) pause. 

Then Honoria was  _ crying _ and saying something he couldn’t hear over a strange golden buzzing occurring in the center of his ears and when it cleared she was discussing  _ train tables _ . 

“No, no d-darling, I insist. I do know and you are sweet, but I h-have the ab-ability to charge things to  _ Charles’  _ account, you see?”

Charles didn’t know whether to laugh or start smashing things out of frustration. His baby sister was fixing him up with a man - and he was paying for the privilege. (Not that the expense mattered - he would have set aside his inheritance in her name or in Max’s and not batted an eye - it was the principle.) 

“He’ll meet you there,” she concluded the conversation. “And I c-can’t wait to meet you, too. St-stay well, darling. Goodbye.” 

She replaced the phone, set down the knife, and told him when to pick up his boyfriend from the train station. Then, just for fun, she toed the phone cord. “If you had r-really wanted to t-terminate that c-call, you would have unplugged the phone.” 

“A man ought to be allowed to express his affection without the use of a proxy, Honoria!”

“You had two years in w-which to do so. And y-you owe him some pretty words at the st-station at least. Use your liberal arts ed-education and t-tell him how you’ve ached on l-lonely nights because your arms have been bereft of his ch-charming form.” Her eyes sparkled with pleasure and mischief. 

“I hate you.”

“Oh, you do not. Y-you hate how w-well I  _ know  _ you is all. And if you aren’t k-kind to me, I won’t tell you how your adorable S-sergeant sounded.” 

He surrendered immediately, realizing for the first time (Honoria was right; he really  _ could  _ be an idiot) what Klinger’s answer had to have been. She saw him grasp this and embraced him. Pulling back, she kissed his cheek and said, “I always t-told you that you were wonderful, Charles. It must be t-true. Else how could you have won some-someone so sweet?” 

He walked with her, unseeing, back to the mad nest of tables he’d collected and, unseeing, sat on one of them to say, “Tell me everything. Please. How did Max sound? How is he?”

“Yours.” 

She saw him  _ tremble  _ with happiness. She’d intended to hold Klinger’s exact words over his head and out of reach, but she couldn’t do it if he was going to look like that. She took his hand. “I have nev-never heard anyone s-sound so purely happy, Charles.” 

“You’re already picking out China!” he accused. 

“True. Paul Re-revere patterning and traditional Lebanese c-colors, I-I think. You already have f-fur-furniture.”

That was true. “It might not work out, you know. I’ve never so much as held his hand.” 

She shoved him. “If it f-fails, it w-will be because you are st-stupid and mis-mistreating that sweet young man, which I will not allow you to d-do. So it won’t fail.” 

He squeezed her hand. “You’re not allowed to like him better than me.”

“Of course I am. But, Charles, I love you best of all.” 

End! 

  
  



End file.
